


Okay.

by LivinOnARarePair



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 10:49:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2544827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivinOnARarePair/pseuds/LivinOnARarePair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott should have said something.</p>
<p>Sequel to K.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Okay.

**Author's Note:**

> The requested sequel to K. To those that left feedback on K., thank you; y'all keep me going, and I apologise for not responding to comments and that this sequel took so long; my computer time has been limited lately. Anyway, hope y'all enjoy this sequel!

Claude’s drunk.

He tosses back another shot and nearly falls off the barstool. He considers for a second that this may have been a bad idea, but he quickly forgets that thought. It’s the offseason after all, and he’d come in here to drink until he couldn’t remember his own name. And he’s pulled that off. If you asked him right now, he’d have to think about his name and even the team he plays for. What he could tell you, is anything and everything about Scott.

He’s thinking about leaving when a few local cops come in. One of them has curly, light brown hair, and Claude thinks, really, what does he have to lose? Curly saunters by, surveying the place, making sure everything is in order, or whatever, Claude doesn’t really care. He reaches out and grabs the guy’s ass. The cop rounds on him.

“Don’t be acting like that,” he says sternly.

“Sorry, you looked like somebody I used to fuck around with,” Claude says without thinking.

“Excuse me?” the cop says.

Claude opens his mouth and shuts it.

“Why don’t you just get out of here,” the cop says, giving Claude a gentle push towards the door.

And, fuck him. Sure, Claude was about to leave anyway, but he can’t tell Claude what to do, especially here. This is Claude’s territory. He’s tended bar here before, during fucking All Star weekend. The cop turns to finish his rounds of the place, and Claude grabs again.

The cop turns around again. “I thought I told you not to be acting like that.”

“Hey, fuck you--” Claude starts.

And the next thing Claude knows, he’s being led outside, pushed against the back of a cop car, and getting handcuffed. They take him to the station, and he can’t even answer when they ask his name. Luckily somebody recognizes him, and he doesn’t have to answer any more questions. He gets tossed in a cell and then, thankfully, left alone.

Claude wakes the next morning, still laying on the bench, head feeling like it’s about to implode. He tucks his legs into his chest and rests his head between his knees, willing it to stop pounding. He doesn’t move until late afternoon when they finally let him go. Claude takes a cab back to his hotel and stumbles into his room, not bothering to turn the lights on. He falls on the bed, curls up in a ball, and doesn’t move, determined to sleep off the remainder of his headache.

Claude wakes again an hour later, head still pounding. Maybe he had more to drink than he thought yesterday. He hauls himself off the bed and goes to shower, then redresses in sweats and a t-shirt and settles back on the bed. He is not leaving this room at least for the rest of the day.

He calls Danny first.

“Hey, baby,” Danny answers. He’s not chastising, doesn’t even sound angry or upset.

“I did a dumb thing,” Claude says quietly.

“I heard,” Danny says. “Are you okay?” he asks, because he’s the best ever.

“Head hurts,” Claude says. “I was really fucking drunk.”

Danny lets Claude feel sorry for himself and doesn’t scold him, just tells him gently to be smarter next time.

Claude feels marginally better when he hangs up. He’s about halfway back to sleep when his phone rings again, a custom ringtone that he really, _really_ doesn’t want to answer. He does anyway.

“What,” he snaps, not even bothering to make it sound like a question.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” The voice is too loud and rattles in Claude’s skull.

“What do you care?” he spits right back.

“Claude, you are my friend, and I’m worried about you,” Scott says, like he has any right to sound so concerned. “You’re in some serious trouble right now.”

“And that is my problem to deal with. This doesn’t concern you, Scott,” Claude bites out.

“Why are you being like this?” Scott sounds like Claude just hit him or something.

“I was trying to sleep off a hangover when you called,” Claude half-lies.

Scott isn’t hearing it. “Where are you staying?” he asks.

“Why?” Claude asks, suspicious.

“Claude, I think we need to talk.”

Claude doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, “You know where to find me.”

And he hangs up.

If it’s really that important, Scott will have to remember the hotel they stayed at during All Star weekend.

*********

The next day, he’s flipping through channels absently, not paying any attention to what’s on when there’s a knock on his door. He hasn’t moved much since yesterday, except to answer the door when his room service was delivered. He really doesn’t want to answer now, partly because he feels gross and partly because he’s pretty sure he knows who is on the other side of the door. He considers not answering, but decides he might as well get this over with.

Sure enough, Scott’s standing there in the hall, looking about as bad as Claude feels. Except he’s wearing the jeans Claude loves. Claude wants to hate him, but he just can’t. When Scott looks up at him, he looks lost, like he hasn’t slept in a couple days.

“Hey, I . . .” He stops there, just staring at Claude.

Claude sighs, defeated, and opens the door a little wider to let Scott in. Scott doesn’t move for a second, then moves fast, so Claude doesn’t have time to react when Scott steps into the room, seizes Claude in a viselike grasp, one hand on his hip, the other around the back of his neck, and seals his mouth to Claude’s.

Claude lets himself have this for just a second, maybe two, and then he pushes Scott away. Scott pulls back, but he keeps his hands on Claude’s hips.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Claude tries to say sharply, but it comes out a little too breathless to have the kind of edge he intends.

“I needed to see you,” Scott says, eyes darting a little wildly. “We need to talk.”

Claude manages to shake him off and turn away. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Okay, you don’t have to talk. Just listen, please,” Scott says, closing the door and following Claude into the room. “There’s some things I need to tell you.”

Claude’s head hurts. He doesn’t want to do this, but Scott’s already here; they can break it off now.

Claude sits on the end of the bed, tucking his hands under his knees, and nods toward the desk chair. Scott sits there and twists his hands in his lap.

“You look like shit,” Claude says.

“Overnight flight,” Scott says absently. “Listen . . . .”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at the floor, and Claude waits.

“I . . . ,” Scott glances at him, then averts his eyes to the ceiling. “Claude, I love you.”

Claude holds his breath and waits.

“I have since . . . Probably since I came to Philly.”

Claude closes his eyes and lets his breath out slowly.

“Claude . . . ,” he sounds frustrated. “I’m not good at this. Please, say something.”

Claude opens his eyes and looks up at Scott. He looks wrecked, distressed. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I didn’t think you felt the same way,” Scott says. “And then we started our . . . Whatever it was. It was torture. I wanted to . . . I wanted so much, but I didn’t know if you . . . .” He shakes his head and starts to stand. “This was a bad idea. I should probably go.”

Claude catches his hand before he can go too far. Scott turns back to him, eyes a little wide.

“I did,” Claude says quietly.

“You . . . ?”

“I felt the same way.”

Claude watches the effect of his words cross Scott’s face.

“And now?” Scott’s words are barely audible.

Claude hesitates. “I still feel the same way.”

Scott makes a sound like he’s been punched. Then, he cups Claude’s face in both hands and leans down to kiss him like Claude is his only source of oxygen. And Claude lets him, lets himself have this, tilts his head up for a better angle. He lets Scott push him back on the bed, clings to him when Scott kneels above him, pulls him down until they’re laying flush together, and it’s better than anything Claude’s ever felt before.

“Claude, do you want to--”

“Yes,” Claude gasps and seals their lips together again like he’s the one lacking oxygen now. He pushes at Scott’s shirt and pulls it off when Scott leans up for him. Then he tucks his hands into Scott’s back pockets and grinds their hips together. Scott gasps into his mouth and tries to press even closer.

They stay like that, just making out, for what feels like hours, but then Scott shifts his hips, grinding their cocks together through his jeans and Claude’s sweats, and Claude needs Scott in him like now.

“Scott,” he pleads when they break apart, and his voice sounds pathetically desperate even to him, but Scott seems to understand everything Claude is trying to say. He slides his hands up under Claude’s shirt and pushes it over his head, tosses it aside. His eyes rake over Claude’s exposed skin and then he skims his hands over it as well. Claude shivers, feeling nervous under Scott’s gaze, but willing to give his everything to Scott.

Scott looks at him like he’s seeing Claude for the first time, and Claude thinks, in a way, he is. And maybe Claude’s seeing Scott for the first time, too. This time, he’s not trying to get everything he can out of it, not knowing if it’s going to be the last time. This time, he can bask in the experience, let it come over him and actually enjoy it. Scott touches him like he’s nervous, and it feels like their first time. And it is. It’s the first time that they’re in this together, instead of just two people occupying the same space.

“Part of the reason I agreed to leave,” Scott says, voice broken. He swallows, shakes his head, and goes on. “Was to get away from you.”

“What,” Claude says, ready to kick Scott out.

“No, no, no,” Scott says vehemently, shaking his head. “I meant . . . To get away from this.” He shakes his head again. “I’m so bad at this. I wanted to get away from . . . The situation. Of always wanting so much more, always being afraid I was going to fuck up what we had. I didn’t want to leave you, but . . .”

Claude puts a finger to Scott’s lips. “Stop while you’re ahead,” he teases with a small smile.

Scott returns the smile and leans down to kiss Claude softly. He skims his hands down Claude’s sides, making the other boy shiver, and tucks his fingers into the waistband of Claude’s sweats. Claude tilts his hips up to let Scott pull his sweats down before worming his hands between them to get Scott’s jeans undone.

They fumble to get each other naked, and Claude’s sure his first time wasn’t this awkward, but it’s okay, because they’re figuring this out together, figuring each other out. Claude manages to move them up the bed so he can reach the nightstand, pulling the drawer out completely in his haste. Scott huffs a laugh at him before leaning over the side of the bed to retrieve the lube and a condom. Claude reaches for the lube, but Scott holds the tube out of his grasp and shakes his head.

“I’m doing this,” he says softly.

And . . . It’s stupid, but it means so much to Claude.

Scott’s clumsy when he opens Claude up. He’s not watching what he’s doing, his eyes roaming over Claude like he wants to memorize every curve of every muscle, every scar and every bruise. And Claude watches him looking because he already knows all these things about Scott and would rather watch Scott looking at him like this, like he’s some mythological being that no one ever knew existed until now, instead of a teammate he’s seen naked nearly every day, excluding summers, for the last few years.

Scott works three fingers in Claude for what feels like forever, until finally Claude can’t take it anymore and nudges him gently.

“Sorry,” Scott says quietly, blushing and pulling his fingers out. “Just . . .”

Claude knows Scott’s bad with words so he leans up and kisses him so he doesn’t have to struggle. Scott makes an appreciative little noise and kisses him slow and deep. When they break apart, Scott leans up so he’s kneeling above Claude, and Claude sits up, reaching for him. Scott catches his hands.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers.

Claude stares at their interlocked hands, and the irony of Scott’s words hit him like a freight train. He has to close his eyes and take a slow breath.

“I mean . . . ,” Scott tries.

When Claude opens his eyes again, Scott looks so lost, searching for words. Claude squeezes his hands gently and offers a sad smile. “It’s okay,” he says softly. “You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you,” Scott says, so quietly Claude barely hears it.

And Claude can’t look at him right now so he drops his eyes to the bed and picks up the condom packet. He rips it open with his teeth and balances the disk on the head of Scott’s cock and then leans forward to slide it on with his mouth. He pulls off to examine his work, smiling when he sees that it was a perfect slide. He finally looks up at Scott to see the other boy staring at him, mouth slightly agape.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Scott says dumbly.

Claude grins and shrugs.

Scott returns the smile, a little shyly. “I’m gonna miss you.”

Before the weight of the words can break the moment, Scott gently pushes Claude back against the bed, hands slipping up his chest and into his hair to hold him in place while Scott kisses him again like it’s their last, like he’s trying to convey everything he’s feeling to Claude. Scott’s not good with words, but what he’s saying to Claude right now is something far bigger than words could ever begin to describe. And Claude loses himself in it, reveling in the feeling of being so incredibly _loved_. When Scott leans up, his eyes are dark.

“Ready?”

And Claude can only nod.

Scott looks down to line himself up and then starts to push in. He goes so slow, like Claude’s always wanted with Scott, and he’s wrecked by the time Scott’s all the way in, hips snug against Claude’s. And Scott stays there, doesn’t move for what feels like ages, and Claude revels in that, in feeling Scott so deep in him, and _staying_. It’s so new, even if it isn’t anything near their first time. They’ve done this countless times, but this time is just so different. This time, they’re equal, both in the moment and reading each other. They’re in this together.

Claude wraps his legs around Scott’s hips, locking his ankles at the small of Scott’s back, and tries to pull him in even deeper. And then he just can’t take it anymore, and he urges Scott to move. And Scott does, drawing out slow and then sinking in even slower. Claude arches into it, an embarrassingly breathless moan slipping from his lips. Scott leans down to suck a mark into Claude’s neck, and Claude tangles his fingers in Scott’s curls, blunt nails scraping up the back of Scott’s neck.

Scott keeps it slow, and Claude’s never felt like this before, like there’s an electric current racing through him, rocketing up and down his spine hundreds of kilometres per hour, with no path to ground. It’s a little overwhelming for a moment, but he just focuses on Scott: Scott’s hands hot on his waist, Scott’s teeth worrying a mark over his collarbone, Scott everywhere around him, within him. He tugs at Scott’s hair, getting the other boy to look up, and he can see that Scott’s feeling it, too.

He smiles gently, and Scott returns it and leans down to kiss him softly. “Love you,” he murmurs, then kisses Claude again, deep, enforcing his words.

He leans up and starts to move again, picking up pace now. He tilts his hips, and then he’s nailing Claude’s prostate with every thrust. Neither of them are going to last much longer. Claude rolls his hips with the motion of Scott’s, chasing the feeling. Scott loses his rhythm first, but Claude’s not far behind; he just needs a little more . . . .

Scott stills and comes first. Claude’s a second behind, every muscle coiled and ready to snap, but Scott’s done.

“Scott,” Claude gasps. “Please.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Scott says as he slips out. Claude’s about to protest, but then Scott’s moving down his body, trailing his mouth hot over already heated skin. And then he takes Claude into his mouth, and Claude is done. Scott keeps it shallow, and it’s not that great, but Claude’s too close to care. He comes within moments, and Scott doesn’t pull off. He works Claude through it, swallowing around him. It’s the best orgasm of Claude’s life.

But then he’s too sensitive, and he tugs Scott’s hair gently to get him to pull off. Scott does and moves back up the bed to lay beside Claude, pulling Claude in against his side and cuddling him close. And Claude revels again. His brain’s a little fuzzy, but not so fuzzy that he can’t enjoy this, fitting against Scott’s side, Scott’s arm around him. He catches Scott’s free hand and tangles their fingers together. Scott kisses his forehead and then his mouth when Claude tilts his face up.

“I love you,” Scott murmurs.

Claude hides a grin against Scott’s chest. “I love you, too.”

“Say it again,” Scott says softly.

Claude looks up at him and is shocked by the look of Scott’s face. It’s so open and there’s such a _wanting_ there, and Claude realises that that’s the first time he’s told Scott.

“I love you,” he says again, wonder painting his own voice.

Scott makes a pained little noise and leans down to kiss Claude again, deep and loving.

“Why didn’t we do this before?” Claude asks when they break apart.

Scott shakes his head. “We were both too stupid to tell each other.”

Claude hesitates. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Scott says, grazing his lips over Claude’s temple.

“Why did you hide it?”

Scott sighs, sounding tired. “The first time we kissed . . . It was . . . I can’t even describe it. And I didn’t want to get my hopes up. After that, I didn’t want to touch you too much, because . . . I didn’t know if I’d be able to stop myself, and . . . I think I could get off just getting you off, and I didn’t want you to find out because . . . I don’t know. It would have been weird? I didn’t want you to know, because I didn’t think you would feel the same. It sounds stupid now, but . . . .”

“No, I understand,” Claude says softly.

“What about you?”

Claude smiles softly. “I never hid anything. I just never said anything. You never noticed because you always kept your eyes closed.”

“Fuck,” Scott breathes, like it pains him.

“This is okay,” Claude says, but his voice breaks. He swallows the knot in his throat and continues. “We’re not going to be on the same team anymore, so we can’t . . . But we’ll still play each other. We’ll still see each other. We can make this work.”

Scott leans down to kiss him again. “We can do this.”

*********

They don’t leave the bed for the next two days, except a few times to fuck in the shower.

But then Claude has to be back in Philly. He’s about to catch hell from the organization, but kissing Scott one last time in the washroom at the airport, he doesn’t care what happens to him.

Until he actually gets to Philly.

He spends hours in the office getting yelled at by everyone down to the janitors and then told what to say to the media.

But then he goes home and calls Scott. They stay on the phone until late in the night. Claude’s almost asleep when they say goodnight.

“Talk to you tomorrow,” he says, stifling a yawn.

“Okay. Love you,” Scott says.

Claude smiles into his pillow. “Love you, too.”


End file.
